The Dance
by tempest10
Summary: Weyoun is a diplomat, and a stellar one at that. But even he can find himself in a situation beyond his abilities. Please read and review!


It had started out a cocktail party, one of the myriad of functions that must be endured for the sake of diplomacy. He mingled, he made small talk, he fulfilled his duty. But alas, the drinks began to add up (he had politely refused any alcohol; a diplomat must have a clear head, after all) and he was soon the only person in the room with his senses unclouded.

Someone put on music, and there was dancing. He excused himself, and went to stand in a corner of the room. Technically he shouldn't have done that; he should have kept with his hosts, been polite. But frankly, they were probably too buzzed to care and he couldn't dance. _Something he'd have to learn_, he noted, _for situations like these_.

So he stood, leaning against a wall and watching as much as he could. The lights, thankfully, were still on but the music was loud and the people were too. His sensitive ears picked out every note in the melodies and heard an uncomfortable amount of conversation. They ached. He longed to excuse himself but that wouldn't do either. Diplomacy, diplomacy dictated everything.

So he stood, until a woman came tripping out of the crowd and up to him. He squinted and took in as much as possible: young, grinning, tipsy. She gave him a grin and tried to tug him out onto the floor. He resisted, but resistance, as the Borg would say, was futile. So with little choice left, he followed her.

Now it was much too loud for his ears, much too crowded for his eyes. Things that were more than a few feet away became blurs of color. And this woman, though probably quite pleasant in other circumstance, was pulling him back and forth, twisting herself around, and stepping on his feet. She wouldn't, he judged, be a very good dancer even when sober.

At the end of the song she became distracted and he was able to pull away, resolving to flee the party, diplomacy be damned! He could surely invent some emergency to explain his absence, but now he wanted to be away from here.

But no, the song changed, became slow. People began to couple up and he was snagged by a different girl, an older one. Not unattractive and steadier on her feet than the first, but really this was unacceptable! He tried to make an excuse but she pulled him close, smiled, put her arms around his neck. Awkwardly, he put his around her waist.

This dance, for a mercy, was less complicated, nothing but swaying. All he had to do was not bump into another couple. He held himself a bit stiffly but she didn't seem to notice. He made plans to leave, but as soon as the music sped up, he was dragged off by another lady, and another, in a whirling sequence of turns and gyrations and flailings (on his part at least). Whenever he was near the edge of the floor, he tried to make a break for it but was pulled back again and again.

As the night grew longer and the dance grew wilder, he found himself clinging to the ladies, lest he be trampled in the circling and yelling blurs that frolicked and rampaged just past the edge of his vision. Damn his nearsightedness! He had never been able to track motion well, now it was nearly impossible. Never more in his life had he wished for better eyes; he could find his way out of here and flee!

His ears hurt from the noise, his eyes ached from squinting and trying to discern what was going on. His feet were doubly sore both from standing so long and from being stepped on by the clumsier of his partners. His head spun. He had to leave. But how?

After an interminable (it seemed) time, an opportunity was presented. Another woman (they seemed to delight in swapping partners back and forth, in trying to dance with as many as possible in a single night) snatched him from the one he was dancing with and led him from the floor. He was about to thank her for rescuing him when she leaned in, pressed her lips to his neck.

He leapt back, from surprise and from the alcohol scent on her mouth. She pulled him back, but he pulled away and harder too. Fervently hoping that she wouldn't remember his impoliteness in the morning, he scrambled from the room, head spinning and hands shaking. He didn't care where he was headed, as long as it was quiet and dark and he was alone.

Sometimes this job was almost more than he could bear.


End file.
